


stay up, like a good fight

by Euphoriette



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: Character Death, Fictional Religion & Theology, Gen, Post-Canon, Post-Wizards (Tales of Arcadia), Redemption, SO yesterday, Violence, apocalypses are like, btw zoe is desi i dont make the rules, it isn't very expanded upon, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:21:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27313981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euphoriette/pseuds/Euphoriette
Summary: You get an apocalypse and you get an apocalypse! Everybody gets an apocalypse!orthe sixth (fifth? fourth?) end of the world feat. panicking, prophecies, a priesthood, and of course, a princeling.
Relationships: Krel Tarron & RK-Y "Ricky" Blank | Dadblank, Krel Tarron & Zoe
Comments: 30
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Wizards: The Ones Who Stayed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21085550) by [AkozuHeiwa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkozuHeiwa/pseuds/AkozuHeiwa). 



The day Krel is attacked by his own people is a week after he got attacked by two ancient wizards, and three days after he finally stopped shivering from being frozen like a preserved fruit. 

Just fantastic, right? He’s really racking up a body count here, except in reverse, because _he’s_ the one getting beat to hell, but then again, he’s still (somehow) not dead yet. That isn’t the point though. The point is, a week after the world ends for what is probably like the third time (fourth, if you count the asteroid, fifth if you count Morando’s almost-invasion), the world just might be ending all over again. Except...not really. Not _this_ world, at least.

Okay, this is getting confusing. Flashback time, let’s clear some things up.

The day before the sixth(?) not-end of the not-this world, because, let’s be honest, he has nothing better to do, Krel was staring at Excalibur, trying to figure out a way to get it out of the rock. He’d never thought an _inanimate object_ could be this annoying, but then again, he’d never thought he’d actually go insane enough to stay on this dumpster-planet. At least it’s not Durio. Small mercies.

Anyway, he’d tried everything. A lever, high-tech magnets, blowing up the rock it was stuck in, even just pulling it (come on, he _had_ to try at some point). Zilch, zero, nada. Nothing was working and the sword stayed as infuriatingly stuck as it always had been. At the end of his rope, Krel decides to yell at it. 

It never worked on Aja, but maybe it’ll work here. Do swords have emotions? Probably not, but if that was a thing, then it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing ever. There were probably talking swords at some point in _some_ planet’s history. So, Krel scrunches up his face, summoning all the anger in his body. He was good at that, getting angry, though he was supposed to be the level headed one.

“You’re a soolian!”

Nothing.

“You look like a feeble larvox!”

Still nothing.

“You look like _Steve_!”

Zilch, zero, nada. Again. This calls for another approach: the dreaded Lecture. Krel tries to sound how Papa would, whenever he’d catch Krel tinkering when he was supposed to be paying attention.

“I’m not mad”, Krel tells it. “I’m just disappointed.”

Not a budge out of the damn thing. Excalibur just stays the way it is, unmoving and completely irritating. It glints in the setting sun like it’s winking at Krel, taunting him. Krel wants to shoot it with his serrator, but thinks of Papa’s disapproving face and suppresses the urge to to reach for it. Instead, he falls back onto the grass, and closes his eyes instead of looking at the accursed, stone-bound weapon.

“Great Gaylen, you’re annoying.” Krel says, utterly irritated. “Are all swords this prissy? You didn’t want the Trollhunter, you didn’t want Tobias, you didn’t want me- which is understandable, I doubt I could even lift you, let alone wield you-”

He turns to his side, eyeing the sword curiously. In it’s blade, his distorted reflection stares back at him, messy hair, messy clothes, messy-messy- _messy_.

“-so, who’s it going to be?” Krel wonders. “Aja, maybe? She’s the queen of a whole planet! That _has_ to be good enough."

The sword doesn’t say anything back. Krel kind of wishes it would, even if it was just to insult him, or reject Aja (which would’ve _really_ pissed Krel off). He also wonders what the heck he’s doing with himself. Everyone else is off doing cool and fun things. Toby’s catching up with Jim, Eli and Aja are fixing up post-Morando Akiridion-5, Steve’s forming the Knights of Arcadia, Douxie’s off in New York with the little veggieling, and Krel is, well…

Yelling at a sword.

…Kleb, he’s kind of pathetic, isn’t he?

“Kleb.” Krel says out loud. “I’m kind of pathetic, aren’t I?”

The swords glints in what could be interpreted as agreement, so Krel does what humans call ‘flipping it off’, ring finger raised, because that’s how it’s done. The front-desk girl at Hex Tech told him so. Or was it the middle finger? Or both?

Speaking of the front-desk lady, (Zoe? Yeah, Zoe sounds right.) maybe Krel should go bother her. It’s not the worst idea. Sometimes, if she’s in a good mood, she’ll let Krel watch when she fixes stuff with magic, which is always completely fascinating.

Then again, her shop did kind of get wrecked from the Arcane Order’s attack. No one would be in a good mood dealing with the fallout of that. Krel should probably keep his distance if he doesn’t want to get hexed. 

”…Guess it’s just you and me, Excalibur.” Krel says, turning to said weapon. In the spirit of companionship, he gives the sword a halfhearted fistbump. It’s almost poetic, really. One of them is stuck in a rock, the other, a hard place. Or at least that’s how Krel thinks that human saying goes. 

Then, in the reflection of Excalibur’s blade, Krel notices something.

In the steel of the blade, he can see the hazy outline of trees, stark against the orange sky, and then, in the sky, what Krel noticed. A big blurry, worm-like thing, getting closer and closer.

Oh. Oh _no_.

“Not again.” Krel stumbles to his feet and automatically reaches for his serrator. “Please. Not again. Just one more week. One more week without nearly dying.”

Of course, the floating worm-thing doesn’t listen to him, and as it gets closer, Krel can see that it’s _definitely_ not a worm.

First of all, it’s too shiny. It glints in the sun like it’s made of metal, which, upon greater scrutiny, it is. It’s shell seems to be made of a thousand shifting, undulating plates, which seem to almost row it forward in the sky like a boat down a stream. Whatever it is, it’s obviously not organic. Which brings Krel to the second thing.

It’s a ship. Not just any ship. It’s not familiar, but Krel can recognize certain telltale signs here and there. There’s no doubt about it.

It’s Akiridion.

A spark of hope ignites in Krel’s core. _Maybe_ , Krel thinks, _maybe, just maybe, they’re not going to-_.

That thought gets exploded into a million pieces as the ground in front of Krel gets exploded into a million pieces. Great, they’re blasting at him, because of course they are.

Krel is so tired of this shit, that he might as well try it. Waving to draw more attention, Krel dodges and weaves through a few more blasts, then ducks behind Excalibur. Another blast, aimed straight for him, hits the sword instead. Dust flies, clouding his vision.

“Take that!” Krel shouts, a vindictive jolt of happiness bursting through him. “You elevated butter knife!”

To his great displeasure, when the dust clears, the sword is still very much stuck. More to the point, the worm-ship behind him is landing, and in an eerily animalistic style too. Very much like a coiled snake, the mouth of which is pointed at him. Slowly, the ship’s maw opens to reveal his attackers.

Well, at least Krel was definitely right about the Akiridion part. It’s unmistakeable, all five of them, the detached face plates, the glowing bodysuits. What’s strange about them is that they look almost in greyscale, the usually neon skin replaced by dull, dark kind of glow. Their face plates loop up and about their heads, twirling together to form a sort of ring behind them, like each of them are wearing some weird gray halo. Robes swish around their bodies, dark and patterned with the stars of the Akiridion sky, and with a pang of homesickness, Krel realizes he can recognize some of the constellations.

In a line, they exit their ship, and stand, all in perfect time, in front of it. Each one’s movement mirrors the other, in complete sync. They stare at Krel, and the dark splash of paint down their foreheads, dripping down around their eyes, reminds him of tears. Even the tips of their fingers are stained with the same black color, giving them an almost gradient look.

“If you’re going to kill me”, Krel yells at them, because the silence is getting awkward. “I want an explosion. A big one. I shall not die otherwise.”

There’s a long pause, before the one in the middle steps out, tall and graceful and identical as the rest of them. She stares at Krel like she’s trying to stab him with her eyes.

“Sister Anbali”, she says suddenly, making Krel jump. Even though she doesn’t stop staring at Krel, it’s instantly obvious who she’s talking to when one of the four others standing in a row behind her flinches. “I thought I told you. _No blasters_. We want him alive.”

_Alive?_

“Apologies, sister Nerea.” the Akiridion who Krel presumes is ‘Anbali’ looks sheepishly at the ground. “I thought those were the braking systems.”

“Not anymore, I presume?”

The others in the row snicker, and Anbali glows with embarrassment.

“N-no, sister.”

Though ‘Nerea’ doesn’t actually do it, Krel can almost feel her mentally rolling her eyes.

“Now, then” Nerea says. Her eyes narrow at Krel and before he can get a word in edgewise, she’s got a glowing spear of white light leveled under his chin. Krel feels like he should be scared, but only manages to scrounge up a vague sense of irritation. “Tell me. Where is it.”

“First you fire at me.”, Krel says tiredly, ignoring her demand. “Then you threaten me at serrator-point. _Then_ you demand the location of some vague thing which I have no idea about because you couldn’t be bothered to explain what the kleb it is that you want beforehand.” He leans back against Excalibur. “You guys really need to plan your entrances better. I’m looking at you- what was it- Anbali? Accidental blasting, really?” Krel shakes his head. “ _So_ unprofessional.”

Those standing in a row snicker some more. Anbali looks like she wants to disappear into the grass below her. 

Then Nerea lets out a snarl and kicks Krel in the side, sending him sprawling.

“You think I’m a fool, Ventis-spawn?” she sneers, and Krel almost wants to say ‘yes’ just to spite her. The pain in his side is kind of distracting though. “You know what I want. What we _all_ want.” She levels her weapon at him again and it transforms into a long, sleek cylinder-shaped blaster. “The reckoning of Akiridion-5 is long overdue, princeling. It’s time we bring about what was meant to happen so many eons ago. The children of Gaylen shall not be so easily denied.”

At ‘children of Gaylen’, Krel almost dry heaves.

“No way.” he says, stumbling to his feet. “ _No way_. That gloober had _kids_? Gross!” Krel laughs. “Oh, _fligshaag_!” Then, the rest of it hits him. “Wait. What do you mean _reckoning of Akiridi_ -” 

“We’re not _really_ his spawn!” Anbali interjects eagerly, cutting Krel off. “We’re the enacters of his divine will! Nerea told me so!”

Nerea clenches her hands like she’s trying to keep herself from strangling the other Akiridion. It’s kind of entertaining, but now is _really_ not the time. Krel mentally prepares for the no doubt grueling next few hours, and, well, if he’s going to suffer, he might as well suffer in style.

Activating his serrator, Krel lets his transduction fall away, revealing his true form. Drawing himself up to his full height, which by Akiridion standards isn’t very tall at all, he tries for a confident smirk.

“Enacters of his divine will?” Krel taunts, summoning a spear, “‘More like ‘enacters of his divine _idiocy_ ’”. 

In response, Anbali lets out a scandalized gasp, and the one beside her quietly goes: “Oh no he didn’t”.

Nerea, on the other hand, has obviously had enough.

“Enough games!” she bellows. “I want you alive, but not enough to merit leaving you unharmed.” A blaster forms on her other hand, the whirring sound of energy filling the air, and the others, snapping to attention, follow suit, white-light weapons forming in their hands. “You’re ours now, princeling.”

“It’s Krel Tarron to you, snack-butt.” Krel says, eyes narrowed, teeth bared. “And I? Am _nobody’s_.”

Nerea doesn’t grace him with an answer before she attacks.


	2. Chapter 2

Rolling under Nerea's blaster shot, Krel narrowly dodges getting stabbed by another of the sisters. A third swipes at him with dual knives like a whirlwind of death, and it takes all of Krel’s nerve to duck under her swing and, by some fluke, trip her, sending her stumbling backwards. Wisely choosing not press his luck, Krel vaults over Excalibur and dashes for the woods. He’s navigated them once before, when he was running for his life from the Zeron Brotherhood. He can do it again right? His fight-or-mostly-flight instinct hasn’t let him down yet. He can lose these freaks in the forest and, if luck allows, make it back to his house in one piece. Easy.

A blast whizzes past his temple, the heat of it like an edge of white-hot pain, which snaps Krel out of his frantic planning. Fumbling for his serrator, he points back and shoots furiously, praying that the shots connect, and, lo-and-behold, there’s the sound of fabric ripping and a loud curse.

“Anbali!”, someone yells in frustration, and Krel grins viciously. Someone else, presumably Nerea, shouts some kind of order and the sisters fan out, rushing into the woods behind Krel, trying to flank him. _Corner_ him, like a pack of wolves might. Krel leaps over tree roots, ducks under branches, and through the gaps between the trees, can see flashes of glowing white-gray getting closer and closer.

“Oh kleb, oh kleb, oh kleb, oh _kleb-!_ ”

Something in him lurches, some base feeling telling him _duck!_ , and Krel drops to the ground as a spear of glowing white light zips right through where his head just was and buries itself in a tree. The part where it’s dug into the bark smokes slightly, and Krel can’t help but imagine his own face there instead of the wood.

If he hadn’t moved...if the spear had been thrown an inch lower…

No, it was thrown like that on purpose. To disorient or discourage him. Krel has the feeling that if they wanted to, they wouldn’t have missed. Getting the distinct sense that he’s being herded into a corner, Krel tamps down the oncoming panic attack and forces his feet to keep moving. He can hear fast footsteps behind, oh kleb oh kleb and the whir of a blaster to his left-

Whipping up his serrator, Krel summons his shield in just enough time to intercept a blaster shot aimed straight at his temple. It wouldn’t have killed him, just stunned him, but Krel doesn’t look for where it came from, just throws himself farther away into the woods, running faster than he thought he was capable of. There’s a rustle behind him, and Krel points there and shoots, which elicits a thud, a _splat_ , a loud curse, and a foul smell.

Ah yes. The dreaded raccoon poop, bane of footwear. Krel could almost feel sorry for the unlucky bastard who stepped in it. If, of course, said unlucky bastard hadn’t tried to capture him just a few minutes ago. 

Dashing around a clump of bushes, Krel, with incredible grace and poise, slams headlong into a fallen tree, tumbles right over the trunk, and lands hard on his side. It takes everything in his core not to swear profusely, and Krel bites his lip hard, contenting himself with just thinking scathing remarks. What the hell is this tree doing laying around like this, anyway? Weren’t these blasted things supposed to grow _upward_?

It takes a minute for Krel’s adrenaline-drunk mind to adjust.

Then it all comes back to him. 

That night. Him and Eli out looking for the Billycraggle, and them finding the Zerons instead. Him and Aja trying desperately to fight back against their attackers, then, trying to escape them. Climbing the tree, it being cut down, Aja, crushed beneath it’s weight, their death approaching…

Ah, yes. Good times.

Also, it gives Krel an idea. It might just corner him and get him captured even quicker, but it also might not, which is kind of the best he can hope for right now, considering that the situation’s looking kind of dire. Plus, his phone is crushed in his pocket from falling over the tree, so even though he may have thrown the Sisters off his trail for a long enough time to ring up help, the only way to ring up that help is shattered and tearing holes in his bodysuit from it’s broken-sharp edges. Besides, he can’t just sit around and do nothing! Eventually, the sisters will find him, capture him, then cart him off and use him for nefarious purposes. That simply will not do. The only nefarious purposes Krel will abide are his own.

So, gathering up his wits, Krel struggles up the trunk of a nearby tree, hefts himself up the branches, points his serrator at the sky, and shoots. The sound of the blaster going off seems like a death toll, a big heavy bell clanging, the sound like getting consecutively sucker punched. An obvious bait? Possibly. Is there much time to consider the consequences? Hell no.

“What am I doing?” Krel mutters, scrambling through the pockets of his bodysuit. Pulling out a black orb with glowing blue accents, he lets out a bark of a laugh, that could be mistaken for a sob. “Sweet Seklos above, what am I doing?”

Kleb, that’s rustling in the distance. Not quite in the distance. Definitely _not_ in the distance. Great Gaylen, these sisters are quick. Krel activates his transduction to stop from glowing, and readies the capturing device in his hand.

At the exact same time, four of the sisters explode out of the undergrowth, blasters readied, serrators hefted. The fifth one, covered in what is unmistakably raccoon feces, stumbles out, turns in about three different directions, then drops to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Without missing a beat, one of them leans down and picks up Anbali like she weighs nothing. All of them wrinkle their noses at the smell.

“Great Gaylen.”, another of them complains, pinching her nose. “Remind me why we brought _her_ , again?”

“Comic relief, duh.”, a third answers.

“Comic _grief_ , more like.”

They both snicker, until Nerea shoots them a look fit to kill, which effectively shuts them up. Krel’s almost jealous. If he was as intimidating as her, he would stick at nothing. He sticks at nothing anyway, but it would easier with fear factor.

More to the point, they’re spreading out to look for the source of the blast, that being Krel, logically. He needs to find a way to get them all bunched up together so the trap can actually _work_. Luckily, it seems they haven’t quite figured out how to climb trees, yet. That, or they’re severely underestimating Krel’s upper body strength. Which, admittedly, he doesn’t have much of.

Suddenly, Krel, remembering Douxie and the whole ‘Hisirdoux’s Eternal Time Trap’ incident, (the name’s a bit on the nose, but whatever) gets another idea. An, arguably, even stupider idea than his climb-up-a-tree-and-draw-attention-to-myself idea. 

Sending up a quick prayer to whatever deity is willing to listen, Krel drops down from his perch in the tree, and, when all the sisters whip around, shoots them an awkward smile.

“Uh. Hey.” he says.

In half a second, they all have their serrators out. In a quarter second, all of those serrators are pointed at him.

“He was in those weird, tall greenish things!”, one of them gasps.

“How devious!”, whispers another. “Not bad.”

“Ah. Princeling.” Nerea ignores them, and gives Krel a slow, frighteningly kind-looking smile. “I see you have come to your senses.” She raises her serrator, a long, whip-thin spear forming, and the sisters circle around her. “Surrendering already? Truly, I thought the line of Tarron would have more mettle than that.”

Krel’s so nervous he can’t even be affronted at the thinly veiled insult. Is he sweating? Whatever is happening, he feels strangely damp all over. He thinks he can even hear his core in his chest, whirring away, recycling energy,

“Yes. Um. That is what I am unquestionably doing. Surrendering.” Doing a quick scan of the sisters, Krel determines that they’re definitely close enough to trap. Time for Phase Two of his plan. “I also wanted to say, um, that you look lovely today. I daresay you’d look even lovelier if you would not keep trying to capture me. ”

“Ah, apologies.” Nerea says pleasantly. She stalks forward briskly, the others following suit. “While I appreciate the compliment, capturing you is a must, I’m afraid. It is no secret that you Tarrons hid Gaylen’s core away, long ago. As one of the last, and least protected, of your line, you are our best chance at claiming the core, us, the Children of Gaylen, being it’s rightful owners and all.”

Ay-ay-ay, _again_ with Gaylen’s core?

“Your logic is outstanding. Outstandingly stupid, to be clear.” Krel says. “Also-”, he lets an expression of horror form slowly on his face, flicking his eyes back to something behind the sisters, “WHAT IS _THAT_?”

Ah yes, the ‘oldest trick in the book.’ Needless to say, all that acting for ‘DJ Kleb, Intergalactic Man of Mystery’ must have paid off, because those suckers fell for it hook-line-sinker style.

At the same time, all the sisters whirl around in battle-stance, and Krel, being a little shit, waits for it to dawn on them, waits for Nerea to whip back around, expression brimming with fury, before he casually chucks the trap at them. It’s a thing of beauty, really, their affronted, enraged expressions, trapped behind a glowing blue wall. As a wonderful little bonus, Anbali’s still flopping about, smearing raccoon shit every which-way, and, of course, on her fellow cultists. It’s like a very cramped game of hot-potato, the sisters shoving her about, not willing to be stuck for so long next to someone smelling like the inside of a toilet.

Strolling up, Krel leans against the outside of the trap, and raises his eyebrows appraisingly at Nerea’s angry face, smooshed up against the barrier. 

“I was right!”, Krel grins, brightly. “You _do_ look lovelier when you’re not trying to capture me! Might I add, the poop is a wonderful touch. Really brings out your shit-like quality.”

“ _You_.” Nerea seethes. “You insolent, little _worm_. You think your little tricks will stop us? The reckoning of Akiridion-5 will wait for _no one_. Especially not an impertinent maggot like y-”

“Has anyone ever told you, you talk too much?” Krel interrupts. Then, he gives the trap a good nudge, making Nerea tumble back with a yelp, and crash right into Anbali. 

Brimming with satisfaction, Krel sprints off into the woods to the sound of Nerea’s shrieking.


	3. Chapter 3

Maybe it’s the adrenaline rush, or maybe he’s actually gotten more fit (not likely), but Krel surprisingly isn’t all too winded when he finally reaches his house, considering he ran the whole way. There’s no time for being proud of that, though, too much to think about. Reckoning of Akiridon-5? Children of Gaylen? What in Xerxes’ Maelstrom is going on?

“Great.” Krel grouses, as he checks through the windows for any sign of the ‘sisters’, the lingering satisfaction from trapping them having long since worn off. “It’s not _Earth_ having an apocalypse this time. It’s Akiridion-5. Absolutely stellar.”

In any case, he needs to find out more about these mystery ‘sisters’. They seem to be pretty dangerous, save the ‘Anbali’ one, and obviously intent on bringing planetary destruction. How they’re going to do that, though, is still up for discovery. It’s times like these that Krel wishes Mother was still around, to guide him. She was definitely the proverbial glue of the family, always intent on keeping him, Aja and Varvatos working together. 

...Mother. Huh. That’s an idea. She may not still be around, but her memory stores might be. It could take a bit of searching, but maybe Krel can scrounge something up. It’s worth a try. And if he does find anything, he’ll probably need to tell Aja too, since she’s, you know, the _ruler_ of the planet that’s undergoing an apocalypse. She’ll need to be prepared for the worst. Which Krel can, hopefully, somehow stop, or at the very least, help stop from happening.

So, with a new plan of action, Krel, barely hearing Ricky’s cheery “hey, hey, hey!”, disappears through the fireplace into the ship’s true interior. Mother’s memory files are usually stored around the ship’s main interface, and it doesn’t take long for him to dig them up and start doing some searching.

It also doesn’t take long for Krel to start running into problems.

The thing is, it’s not like he underestimated just how much information Mother had, no. He just underestimated just how jumbled-up it was. Yeah, she has thousands upon thousands of memory files and information, but within it, Krel finds historical info mixed in with technological know-how. The destruction of Voltar and the sailing of the Xerxean sea. The becoming of House Tarron with a step-by-step instruction on how to make a snorfing pot. _Fligshaag_.

Jeez, Mother was doing way too much. Keeping up around the house, protecting against invaders, picking apart this expansive disarray of information at a moment’s notice… _kleb_. Krel feels horrible. He didn’t even do any, like, vacuuming or anything. Still hasn’t. The blanks are learning, but not fast enough, and Krel can’t believe it’s taken him this long to realize that his house is kind of a shithole.

“Hey, hey, buckaroo!”, a voice calls behind him. Krel flops back, rolls over onto his front, and hopes that he hallucinated it.

Unfortunately that doesn’t seem to be the case. Ricky Blank jauntily skips down the corridor and promptly plops what looks like a burnt sausage chain beside Krel. When Krel doesn’t move, Ricky nudges him.

“Hey, kiddo! Lucy’s havin’ some techie problems, so I decided to make some nice dinner! Whaddya say, sport?”

Krel sniffs the air and almost gags. Yeesh. When Ricky made dinner, he really went for broke. Those sausages were so well done that they smelled like packaged gasoline.

“I’d rather fall victim to the plague. Or the Great Storm of Elaryan.” Krel says, moving so he can glare at Ricky out of the corner of his eye. “I found that information mixed in with an advertisement for jelly blasters. Like, _blasters made of jelly_. Which is kind of cool but highly impractical. Anyway, leave me alone.”

Ricky doesn’t listen to him, something which, annoyingly enough, he does a lot. He sits down beside Krel, picks up the burnt-sausage chain and starts eating it, even when it just crumples to ash in his mouth.

“Well, whaddya lookin’ for, kiddo?” he asks, soot staining his teeth. “Maybe your old man can help.” 

Rolling onto his front, Krel rubs his temples and prepares to verbally sort this out.

“So, long story short”, he begins. “I’m being manhunted. Akiridon-hunted. Whatever.”

“Yikes.”

“-By these ‘sisters’. They’re a cult, basically, and they want to capture me.” Krel continues, absently scrolling through data. “Besides that, they want to destroy Akiridion-5, which is absolutely _not allowed_.”

“Absolutely not.” Ricky agrees.

“So, I’ve got to help out somehow, and aside from not getting captured, research seems like the best course of action. Know thy enemy and whatnot.” Krel sighs, frustrated. “Of course, if said ‘course of action’ would actually go anywhere, that would be great.”

“Ah,” Ricky says thoughtfully, eyes flicking across the screen of data. “What did ya say those ‘sisters’ looked like again?”

“Tall. Gray. Identical. Unpleasant.” Krel rattles off, still aimlessly scrolling. Ricky nods, prompting him on. “They’ve got these round headpieces too, like halos. Glittery robes.”

“Black paint on their eyes and fingers?”

“Yeah- wait.” Krel sits up abruptly, and stares at Ricky, who’s still looking at the memory display. “How did you know? You’ve seen them before?”

“Seein’ em right now, sport!”, Ricky says cheerfully. He takes Krel by the chin and turns his head. “Lookie there.”

Sure enough, hidden in the corner of the data screen, is a small folder. Krel has to squint to see it, but when he gets a good look, he can see the blurry, but unmistakable silhouette of one of the sisters. That face plate shape and the glowing gray coloration is too unique to be anything else.

“Yes! Nice one, Ricky!” Krel crows, and said blankbot beams. In a show of good nature, Krel socks him in the arm, then winces because he forgot blanks are made of metal.

“All right”, Krel says, shaking out his smarting knuckles. “You ready?”

At Ricky’s nod, he opens the folder.

Opening to show two small files, the folder contains what looks like a blurry video clip, and what appears to be a scan of a document. Deciding on the video file first, Krel presses play, then sits back as the file spreads to reveal a scene of Akiridion-5, zooming in to bring the ensuing chaos into better view. ‘Chaos’, being a wild understatement. 

The feed keeps shaking and glitching, but from what Krel can see, the sky is full of sparking smoke, and in the background, there are dark outlines of ships firing at each other, the regular Akridion ones and those strange wormlike ones the sisters would use. On the ground Akiridion soldiers are fighting furiously against the sisters, but not just the five of them. An _army_ , each gray, glowing warrior just identical as the next. They’re almost scary in the way the fight, like it’s a dance. Dangerously graceful, not a movement wasted as they effortlessly spin their white-light spears into glowing blasters, shattering cores into nothing, fighting like they were made for it. Krel shivers at the sight.

Then, there’s a booming voice. One which Krel recognizes from a few hours ago, screaming about poop on her robes.

_Nerea_.

She’s standing on top of a building, one tall enough to tower over the battlefield, but short enough so she can be heard. She’s silhouetted against soot-dark sky, glowing like a beacon in the midst of all the smoke. She looks almost...holy. Krel is loath to admit it but, damn, he’s kind of in awe.

“Sisters mine!”, Nerea shouts. “Tonight, Akiridion shall burn beneath our ire, shall fall to it’s destiny! Tonight, we, the chosen, shall set right the fate of this world! Tonight-!”

Then, Nerea pulls out something from behind her, something terrifyingly familiar. It glows stark and purple in her hands, bright as a star, powerful like a supernova. Krel’s can almost feel the aura of it’s power through the video file, and his mouth goes dry as bone. He’d recognize that accursed thing anywhere.

“-kin of my kin! Core of my core!” Nerea roars, as she lifts Gaylen’s core triumphantly into the sky.

“ _This world shall fall to the might of Gaylen_!”

Then there’s a flash of purple light, the sound accompanying it, not unlike a scream. The screen goes white-

...And it’s over. Just like that. 

In a horvath or a heartbeat.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: panic attack

Krel doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Ricky puts a cold hand on his shoulder, doesn’t realize his eyes have glossed over with tears until they spill down his cheeks. Sweet Seklos, those last few moments of the video feed...something just struck home. Not only the image of it, just...a feeling. A terrifyingly familiar helplessness, like the kind he felt once before, when he and Aja were racing against Morando for possession of the Core. The way it's light reflected in Morando's eyes, it's heavy, suffocating aura.

The image of his parents, the image of _Mama and Papa_ , who he'd have fought entire universes for, dissolving before his eyes. Turning to nothing, nothing at all.

Krel clutches at his chest and sucks in deep breaths, suddenly, inexplicably afraid. Afraid that when he feels for it, he won’t hear it. The beat of his heart, the hum of his core. Like he’s empty, incapable of anything, nonexistent and helpless. He makes a weak sound, like it was cut out of him, the blood in his veins replaced with ice, and Krel slips back, feeling like he’s falling into a void. Like he’s teetering on the steep edge over his grave.

“Kiddo?”

He’s nothing at all, _nothing at all_ -

“ _Krel_!”

Ricky’s voice somehow cuts through the panic like a knife, his hand on Krel’s shoulder is warm and familiar, and finally, Krel can breathe. Long slow breaths, and though he doesn’t need it, the oxygen rushing through his system is a comfort nonetheless.

He’s here. Right here, and despite everything, he’s okay.

Ricky says something else which Krel can hardly understand, only capable of comprehending the warm tone of his voice. There are no graves. There are no voids. He’s _right here_.

“Kid?” Ricky says, worry thinly disguised by cheer. “You good, cool cat?

…’Cool cat’?

“I didn’t know felines had set temperatures.” Krel blurts out on reflex. Ricky's eyes widen, then he laughs, and all is back to normal. 

Well, as normal as it gets, which is good enough.

“Really, though. Are you sure you’ll be fine?” Ricky insists. He grabs the burnt-sausage breakfast and holds it out, urging. “Breakfast could help. Never good to operate on an empty stomach.”

“Maybe later, Ricky. After I fix Lucy.” Krel says, turning back to the data screen to hide his smile. Taking one last deep breath, he looks up, determined. “Right now, we’ve got some more work to do.”

Clicking open the document scan next, Krel widens the screen because of the size-two font, then does a double-take. Is that...scripture?

“Strange”, Krel mutters. “These sisters aren’t messing around.” 

See, on Akiridion-5 it wasn’t like religious belief didn’t exist or anything. Why else would everyone and their mothers invoke Seklos and Gaylen’s name at the drop of a hat? Xerxes’ too, now that it’s mentioned. People would fling their names about all the time.

But to actually organize something centered around religion? It was a far cry from commonplace. Akiridions believed that, at best, gods were there to _protect_ , not instruct or guide. What was even the point of gods trying to guide them anyway? They, as anyone, would obviously, at some point, deviate from those instructions, or twist them around, and just cause general mayhem and confusion. Akiridon gods weren’t foolish enough to try to control destiny. They were just there to see destiny take shape, and, if they so desired, protect those who would shape it. If really pushed, they might just step in and handle certain matters themselves, without a thought spared to fate or it’s like.

They weren’t like this. Not at all like this.

_A different ilk, abandoned, apart  
Of different core, but loyal heart  
Gaylen’s will, an age-long truth  
A homeward path, the Earthen womb_

_The sovereign hand, the Core, has hid  
Within the stonemade Heart, amid  
The watchful Deep, a vision of death  
The hunters wake from eternal rest_

_Gaylen’s meant shall, once more, rise  
The wrongs of past now set right  
A reckoning done, a world left behind  
Armistice now, a hard-won kind_  
2 Prophaeta 1:13

“This-”, Krel says incredulously, staring daggers at the document. “Is this a _prophecy_?”

Ricky takes a long, reverent slurp of his gasoline as Krel stares incredulously at the scripture. He blinks a couple times to make sure his eyes aren’t fooling him. Then, when it’s clear that they unfortunately aren’t, he flops back and stares at the ceiling, feeling like he’s going to flip out all over again.

_Deep breaths, Tarron. Deep breaths._

“This has to be a joke.” Krel scoffs, unbelieving. “This- this can’t be happening. A prophecy, Ricky, are you _seeing_ this?”

Grabbing him by the tie, Krel yanks Ricky forward as he sits up. Dutifully reading the scripture, Ricky pauses, then frowns.

“Kiddo, in that last video. The one with the explosions and ships and-”

“Yes, I know.” Krel raises an eyebrow and suppresses a shudder. “What is it?”

“That lady. The one on top of the building.” Ricky says, fingers tapping nervously on his coffee-pot. “Nerea, right? She said something about Akiridion-5 ‘falling to Gaylen’s might’.”

“That’s what she said. A crock of shit, I daresay.” Krel frowns. “What’s your point?”

“By ‘Gaylen’s might’, she meant herself? And the other sisters?”

“Well, they do call themselves Gaylen’s Children.”

“So, ah, in the prophecy, when it says ‘Gaylen’s meant shall once more rise’-”

Krel bolts up, the implication behind Ricky’s words hitting him like a cannonball. Gaylen’s meant. Those crazy sisters. That must mean…

“Ricky.” Krel pleads desperately. “That- that can’t be right. Gaylen’s meant...it has to mean something else. Those sisters, no way _they_ are going to win, right? Not just because some idiotic poem says so. Right?”

Ricky doesn’t say anything, just looks despondently at the ground.

Oh Seklos, oh sweet _Seklos_ , a reckoning done, a world left behind-

_The reckoning of Akiridion-5 will wait for no one._

A cold, sudden panic washes over Krel, making him almost sputter, airless from the dread. Practically throwing himself at the mainframe, he skims over the data files furiously. There’s too much to be sifted through and not enough that would help him, much less help Aja defend an already weakened kingdom. Kleb, if only Mother was here. Nothing and no one could data mine like her!

Kleb, he can’t focus. There’s too much rushing through his head. If the sisters were destined to win, if Akiridion-5 was _destined_ to fall-

(oh, please, please, _please_ no)

That must mean the sisters would eventually find Gaylen’s core. There’s almost no other way they could possibly inflict planetary destruction on such a scale without it. By obvious logic, that also means the core _wasn’t destroyed_ , which is like a slap to face, considering that part of the reason Krel’s parents _died_ was for it to get destroyed, but that’s neither here nor there. More to the point, the first time Seklos’ cannon was used to stop Gaylen, the core wasn’t destroyed along with him. It’s not too far-fetched to say that it might’ve been the same case with Morando. Maybe the cannon just destroyed the _vessel_ and not the actual core itself.

Entirely plausible? Yes. Entirely terrifying as well? Also yes. 

The theories are endless. Kleb, what if...what if Gaylen’s core wasn’t even Gaylen’s in the first place? 

What if he, in the end, was just another vessel? 

Krel files that theory away for another day. He has more pressing matters to deal with now, such as the big fat honking possibility that Gaylen’s core wasn’t destroyed. And if so, well, where the hell had it ended up? Where could Krel even begin to look for it? Seklos almighty, what was even the point of looking for it if those damned sisters were already fated to find it first?

Well, then, Krel _has_ to look for it doesn’t he? Even if it’s just to spite destiny itself.

“Ricky”, Krel says, tapping through another fruitless bunch of files, “I’m starting to fear that we’re- as the humans say- up shit creek without a paddle.”

“Aw kiddo.” Ricky says, spilling gasoline down his shirt. “I’d started to fear that a long, long time ago.” He sticks the coffee pot out, some fuel still sloshing around the bottom, and gives Krel a sort of encouraging look. “Drink?”

In the midst of contemplating how stupid it would be to take Ricky up on his offer, he hears blasters, a loud crashing noise, and a muffled yell of “Anbali!”.

Krel digs his hands into his hair, feeling like he’s going insane. 

“Ten more mekrons.” he whisper-shouts, fingers scoring lines into his scalp. “They couldn’t give me ten. More. _Mekrons?!_.

Then, of course, there’s a scream. One fit to crack windows. It’s followed by the sound of deranged laughter, and the consecutive shattering of what must be plates.

“That’s Lucy!” Ricky says, instantly angry. “If those hooligans lay a finger on my wife-!”

“I thought you said she had a techie problem?” Krel demands, fumbling for his serrator. On a wayward thought, he grabs his hoverboard chip, in the event he needs to heroically run away.

“She does!”, Ricky yells.

They break for the fireplace exit. Just before Krel opens it, he skids to a stop and glares at his not-dad.

“You”, he grinds out, grabbing his Blank by the suit collars, “Are _not_ coming with me. What in Seklos’ name are you even going to do? Kill them with the coffee pot?”

“Why not?” Ricky protests, swinging the pot for good measure. “I’m all outta the ole Joe anyway!”

Krel considers the tempting idea of somehow knocking him out and leaving him so he doesn’t go off and get himself dismembered. Then there’s the audible sound of something metal crunching, Lucy’s voice tapering off, and Ricky looks like he’s been slapped.

“Screw it.” Krel decides. “Nobody messes with my Blanks.”

Taking a deep breath, Krel opens the portal.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw//blood, injury, mentioned character death

Opening to an eerie quiet, the portal reveals the living room, which would be normal, if the living room wasn’t trashed to all hell. With the couches askew, a plate sticking out of the broken T.V. screen, and the lights all broken, the only illumination streams in from the open front door, milk-pale moonlight spilling into the house. Morphing his serrator into a spear, Krel hefts it up, letting it light the way. Behind him, Ricky’s got his coffee pot up, brows so scrunched they could crush a walnut. 

It’s the smell of feces that hits him first, inspiring dread now, instead of annoyance. Then there’s a sound, like a soft buzz, a quiet sob, and Krel and Ricky whirl to the side to see a row of shadowed figures, five of them, with starry cloaks obscuring their glow. 

_The sisters_ , Krel realizes, some tense kind of weariness chilling his core. His eyes dart to the one in the middle, Nerea probably, then trail down to her hands, that are holding something loosely. Whatever it is, it’s sparking slightly, letting out short, spastic clips of words. 

“ _Ricky_ ,” the thing sobs. “ _Krel. Help-help-help-help-_ ”

In a sharp movement, Nerea crushes the thing, digging her fingers in, making it’s words taper off. She tosses it at Krel’s feet, and his core drops into his stomach. Ricky inhales, sharp and shaky, beside him.

It’s Lucy’s head, mangled and broken. Her mouth has been torn off, and the top fleshy half of her head has been crushed. There’s no sparking anymore, no glitching. She just lies there, silent. 

“Her cortex chip”, Krel hears himself say. “You... you _crushed_ it.”

He looks up, _furious_ , and it feels like he’s the one broken at the neck, because there’s no coming back from this. A fried cortex chip was one thing. A crushed, broken, shattered one?

Lucy is-

_Lucy is-_

“What do you care, princeling?” Nerea says. She steps into the light, and Krel is glad for it. He can see her much more clearly now. All the better to tear off her face with. “It was just a Blank.”

Before Krel can do anything rash, Ricky steps forward. 

“That,” he says, like a lightning bolt, existing out of nowhere, “Is where you’re wrong.”

Looking like a thunderstorm and a landslide, his voice tears out of him with a kind of rage that’s never fit him so well before. Like the idiot he is, he hefts up his coffee pot, and Krel thinks that his Blank might be trembling slightly, but when Ricky looks up, his eyes blaze with barely controlled rage.

“She. Was. My. _WIFE!_ ”, he roars. 

Charging forward with a yell, Ricky swings out with the pot, only to be met with Nerea casually sidestepping him. With a sharp kick to the back of his knee, she sends him stumbling into the wall like a bowlegged deer. Then, she turns to look at Krel, her expression remaining as placid as a lake. Or the ocean’s surface more like, with sharks swimming under.

“Get him.” Nerea says, and the other four sisters don’t waste a moment. Springing into action, they rush at Krel like deadly, graceful whirlwinds, and, almost on autopilot, Krel leaps over the counter, using it as cover. Raising his serrator, Krel fires over the countertop, and while most of the sisters block the shots with white-light shields, one of them does him a favor and trips over her own glittery robes. So, Krel thanks her by shooting her in the stomach. She yowls, sounding like it was punched out of her. 

“ _Sister Anbali_!”, one of them yells, and instantly, Krel takes advantage of her distraction. Leaping over the counter, he kicks her to the ground, and, quickly manifesting a shield, jumps to his feet and barrels into the two other sisters, knocking one to the floor. Unfortunately for him, the other one stays up, and in a quick blur of movement, swipes his feet out from under him, sending him careening. Summoning her blaster, she shoots Krel _as he trips_ , blasting him into the wall and making dust fly. As a lovely bonus, somewhere between being shot and slamming into the wall, the serrator had gone clattering out of his hand.

His head swims, and Krel grits his teeth, trying to hang on to consciousness. He _cannot_ pass out now. Absolutely not. He’s too angry. He’s too sad. Lucy just- Seklos, she just _died_. Her cortex chip is gone to pieces, and there’s no part of her that can be salvaged. Not in any meaningful way.

With eyes unfortunately blurry, Krel scrambles for his lost weapon. He can’t see very well, can’t even think very well, from being slammed into the wall. He blinks, making tears run down his face, and one of the sisters gapes at him, shield lowered in astonishment. Krel already knows who she is, just from her voice and the awkward way she’s hunched over.

“Ew, he’s _leaking_!” Anbali says, grimacing. All of them wrinkle their noses, and make faces of disgust. The one Krel shield-knocked to the floor limps forward, expression absolutely murderous, and picks him up by the neck. Clawing like a wildcat at her arms, Krel snarls and struggles furiously in her hold.

“Great Gaylen.” the sister says, glaring at Krel. “I can’t wait to kill you.”

“Peace, Edae.” Nerea says. She walks over, a smirk curling across her face. She looks down at Krel like he’s not even alive, just some tool to be used up and thrown away. “After our work is done, there will be no use for him. Once Akiridion-5 has gone to dust...”

She lifts Krel’s chin so she can look him in the eyes.

“You can take all the time you want with him then.”

Krel screams, a raw, terrible thing, and lashes out, kicking wildly. He’s crying from anger, from Edae’s cold fingers curling around his neck, from the flint of her teeth in the moonlight. He wants to tear them apart, each one of them, and through the film of tears in his eyes, he can see Anbali, biting her lip, brow scrunched in worry. Or is it pity?

Whatever it is, Krel hates her more for it, hates her for not saying anything, hates her for _getting shot in the stomach_ by him and still feeling sorry for him. Is Krel that pathetic? He screams again, and Nerea slaps him, quick and stinging.

“Take him back to the ship.” she says, mildly. “We’ll interrogate him there.”

Edae dutifully slings him over her shoulder as the other sisters gather their weapons, smooth over their robes, and stride out the door. Anbali though, hesitates, then walks up behind Edae to face Krel. She’s kind of bobbing up and down to try and keep eye contact with him despite her sister’s limping gait, an effort that doesn’t pay off due to Anbali still clutching at her stomach. It would be funny, maybe even make Krel feel a little guilty if he wasn’t so pissed off.

“Please, princeling,” she whispers. “Do not fight anymore. You will only get hurt. I promise you, it’ll be all over soon.”

Krel’s about to spit at her, say something scathing and horrid, when, out of the corner of his eye, sees a hand pick his serrator up off the floor, sees eyes glint in the shadow. The whir of his core seems to crank up to an almost buzzing pace, and Krel doesn’t know whether he should hyperventilate or laugh like a maniac. Barely stopping himself from grinning crazily, he looks up and meets Anbali’s worried gaze.

“Well, you’re right.” he says, and the small, relieved smile she wears is almost enough to make him feel guilty. “I guess it will be over soon. And when it is-”

Ricky steps out of the shadows. The light of the blue serrator reflects in his eyes, the pupils dark and black like voids. Around the handle, a long, sleek gun forms, and Ricky points it at the back of Anbali’s head.

Krel lets a smirk slash across his face, savoring Anbali’s confusion.

“ _You’ll be sorry you ever knew me._ ”

” _GET AWAY FROM MY SON!_ ” Ricky roars, and Edae whirls around at the sound, shouts and pushes Anbali out of the way when he fires. 

There’s a muted explosion, or at least it seems muted to Krel. He can’t really hear much over the sound of his own breathing, his core going one-hundred miles per minute. There’s a (muffled?) scream, several of them actually, and Krel bucks wildly, flying out of the limp arms that once held him. He hits the ground hard, and strangely enough, the pain of it wakes him up, bringing everything back into focus at a dizzying speed, amping up the screaming and shouting and noise all at once. Everything happening so quickly that Krel can barely process it, he struggles up off the floor and comprehends Ricky, face contorted in a shout, firing wildly. Closer to him, two sisters lie on the floor, one sobbing, the other making no noise at all. The still one’s skin glitches, fading slowly inward, like hungry, invisible hands reaching for her core.

“Edae!” The sister that still breathes screams like she can somehow will the moment to fix itself, for the blast to have missed. “ _EDAE_!”

_Ricky killed her_ , Krel thinks, groggily. _He killed her_.

Someone yells Krel’s name, or a rude word, or _the princeling_ , but it’s enough. With a flash of blue light, the serrator in Ricky’s hand forms into a spear and he swings it upward, hitting the blaster aiming at his son, effectively making the shot go wide. On instinct, Krel raises his arms as a shield, hunching down as the wayward blast flies up and smashes a window, throwing glass every which-way. Ever-graceful, he still manages to slip and cut up his hands, smearing blue blood everywhere.

Krel looks up. Ricky looks back. He’s somehow got Lucy’s crushed head, is holding it carefully in one hand while he fires off a serrator with the other. He yells something, expression solemn and determined. He looks like a warrior. He looks like a father. 

_Oh._ , Krel thinks, the only thing he’s capable of thinking right now. A single word. _Oh_.

There’s a hum of energy, like something’s being charged up, and Krel pans his gaze towards the door, sees Nerea with rings of light behind her, and a cannon forming in front of her.

Ricky says something again, his voice steady. He does not yell. He says ‘run’. It sounds like ‘goodbye’.

He tosses the serrator at Krel’s feet. Ricky smiles.

Nerea shoots.

Krel doesn’t dare look. He couldn’t if he wanted to. There’s a white light filling the room, a white noise filling his ears. He scrambles for the serrator, and doesn’t look. He pulls out his hoverboard chip, and _doesn’t look_.

Aiming for the cold draft behind him, the smell of the woods and the wind, Krel activates the hoverboard, sending him flying headlong out the window. Thanks to earlier events, the glass that would be there is scattered in pieces across the living room floor, so there’s nothing getting in the way of him almost clocking his head on the window-frame and hitting the grass hard. Making a sort of weak, gasp-whine, Krel scrambles back onto his hoverboard, panicks for a moment because his vision’s suddenly down for the count, and then realizes that’s because he’s crying.

Krel can’t move. His hoverboard’s spazzing around, threatening to throw him off all over again, but he still can’t move. He’s crying even harder, he can’t even help it, and it’s not loud or dramatic or anything at all. It just is. The night is cemetery-silent, Krel is crying, Ricky is a blackened outline. It is, it is, _it just is_.

“You piece of shit.” Krel rasps, tears running down his face. He digs his fingernails into his palm so hard that they leave little blue crescents. “Move, you bastard. _Move_.”

Krel says it to himself, again and again, you piece of shit, _you piece of shit_. Krel thinks of Ricky while he says it and digs his nails into his palms again, making blood bubble up between them. Blue, stark, and somewhere in a song, the most human color.

Krel gets up on his feet, regains his balance on the hoverboard, not bothering to stop crying. 

Taking off into the night, with eyes blurry and hands bloody, Krel doesn’t look back once.


End file.
